Chapter 17 Chapter 17
MIRA
I woke up the next morning with a dull heaviness stuck somewhere beneath my ribs, the kind that sits there quietly and waits for you to notice it. Last night should’ve ended simply: dinner, awkward stares from the boys, me pretending I wasn’t still shaken by everything that had happened the past week. But then Sofia appeared at the gate, and the moment I saw her face, all the anger I’d been holding in stirred like hot water under my skin.
She’d ignored me when I needed her the most.
She didn’t answer her phone, didn’t reply to my messages, didn’t show up when I was standing at the edge of the woods terrified and alone.
Then she showed up at the Alpha’s mansion—my new prison—and acted like she was the injured one.
So yes, I woke up resentful. I didn’t bother fixing my hair properly; I didn’t bother pretending I wasn’t annoyed. I just pulled on my clothes and left for campus with the goal of getting through the day without thinking about any of it.
The ride was quiet and warm, the kind of warmth that made me lean my head against the window even though the glass vibrated softly beneath my cheek. By the time I stepped onto campus, the day was already alive, students lined up outside the café, the smell of espresso floating over everyone’s heads, groups laughing too loudly about things that wouldn’t matter tomorrow. It should’ve grounded me. It usually did.
But walking through the main hall felt strange, like the air was holding its breath.
Sofia wasn’t there.
She always sat by the tall hallway window with a cup of yogurt and her headphones hanging around her neck, scrolling through her phone with a bored expression until I arrived. It was her routine. Ours, almost. But today the bench was empty, and for a moment I just stood there like an idiot, staring at the spot as if she might suddenly materialize.
I told myself she was probably inside already. Maybe she went early to grab a seat. Maybe she didn’t want to run into me before classes. After last night, I wouldn’t have blamed her.
But as the day went on, the absence grew louder.
I kept glancing at the classroom door during my first lecture, waiting for her to hurry in with a mumbled apology. Nothing. During break, when I passed the café again, her friends were there—laughing, talking, sipping their drinks—but Sofia wasn’t among them. They didn’t even mention her until one girl asked, casually, “Anyone hear from her this morning?” And another shrugged and said, “She’s probably skipping again. She’ll show up later.”
They weren’t worried.
Maybe they didn’t have a reason to be.
I tried not to think about it. Truly. I forced myself through my third lecture, stared at my notes without actually reading them, and told that uneasy feeling in my stomach to sit down and shut up.
But it didn’t.
It stayed with me like a quiet pressure behind my ribs, whispering that something about the situation didn’t sit right. Not because I cared—at least that’s what I told myself—but because last night had been… strange.
She kept looking past me while she spoke, like her eyes were tracking shadows I couldn’t see, and the way she tried to apologize felt rushed, messy, almost frightened.
By the time the final class ended and I made my way back, the sky fading from gold to a soft bruised purple, that feeling had sharpened into something I couldn’t easily ignore. I kept replaying that moment at the gate, the way her voice kept getting caught in her throat, how she fumbled over her words.
It wasn’t my responsibility to worry about her.
She made her choices.
She left me to mine.
But even as I told myself all of that, I couldn’t shake the simple, uncomfortable truth:
something about Sofia’s disappearance felt wrong.
———
By the time I got back to the mansion, the sky had dropped into that bluish indigo that makes the whole place look like a painting—beautiful, cold, too still. The gates opened slowly, and for a moment I just watched the iron bars slide apart, feeling the same old tension wrap around my chest like the mansion was exhaling and pulling me in again.
Inside, the halls were warm and softly lit, but it didn’t shake off the restlessness that had followed me home from campus. Everyone else seemed perfectly normal. Luca was in the living room with his glasses on, flipping through a textbook like he actually enjoyed it. Zane was sprawled on the couch beside him, head back, legs wide, looking like he owned the furniture and the air surrounding it. Jax stood near the window, arms folded, staring outside as if the world had personally offended him.
Three brothers.
Three wolves.
Three reasons why my pulse kept doing stupid gymnastics every time I entered a room.
Zane looked up first. “There you are. How was campus?”
“Fine,” I said automatically, dropping my bag by the doorway. “Quiet. Busy.”
He lifted a brow like he didn’t believe a word of it, but he didn’t press. Luca offered a small smile and then his eyes returned to his book.
But Jax didn’t move.
He didn’t even blink.
His gaze slid from the window to me slowly, and something in my spine straightened before I could stop it. There was nothing soft about the way he watched; no flicker of apology, no attempt at politeness. Jax’s silence was its own language—one that always made my heartbeat pick up even when nothing was happening.
And right now, something definitely was happening.
“Hey,” I said, trying for casual.
He didn’t answer. He just studied me like he could see everything I wasn’t saying. It made my skin prickle.
I turned away first, pretending I needed water from the kitchen, but I barely made it three steps before I felt him move. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just… decisively. A shift in air, a quiet sound of boots on marble, and then a presence at my back that made every nerve in my body wake up at once.
“Mira.”
My name came out in his voice—low, quiet, the kind of quiet that hums at the base of your spine. I turned, and he was right behind me. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that the space between us felt too small, too warm, too dangerous.
“I heard something today,” he said. “About the girl from last night.”
I froze. “Sofia?”
He nodded once, expression unreadable.
“What about her?”
“She didn’t show up to class,” he said. “Not once. Not for any of them.”
My stomach tightened. “You checked?”
“No,” he said simply. “But Luca heard people talking about it online. Group chats. Someone said her roommate hasn’t seen her since yesterday.”
A cold ripple slid down my arms.
Maybe she skipped.
Maybe she wanted space.
Maybe she was embarrassed.
But the pit in my stomach didn’t believe any of that.
Before I could speak, Jax stepped closer—not touching, just near enough that I had to tilt my chin up to keep looking at him. His eyes were sharp in the dim hallway, almost too intense.
“You saw her last,” he said. “You sure she didn’t say anything else?”
His tone wasn’t accusing, but it wasn’t soft either. It was searching and focused in a way that made my pulse jump in my throat.
“No,” I said quietly. “She apologized. She acted weird. Then she left.”
Jax’s jaw tightened a little. He looked down at me like he was piecing something together, and I hated—absolutely hated—how the look made my stomach flip.
“I need you to be honest with me, Mira.”
“I am,” I whispered.
He took one more step.
That was all it took.
My back hit the wall behind me before I realized I was moving. His arm came up beside my head, caging me in without force. His body didn’t press into mine, but his presence did.
I sucked in a breath.
He wasn’t threatening me.
He wasn’t angry.
But being this close to him felt like standing in the shadow of something powerful, something that could swallow me whole and wouldn’t even need to try.
“Mira,” he said again, quieter now. “Look at me.”
I didn’t want to.
But I did.
Because it felt impossible not to.
His eyes were dark in the low light, sharp and steady and unbearably focused on me. And being pinned between him and the wall like that made every thought in my head dissolve into noise.
“You’re scared,” he said softly.
My breath caught. “Of you?”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Of me.”
My hands had curled into fists without me noticing. My heartbeat was a drum against my ribs. I could feel the warmth of him even though he wasn’t touching me.
“I’m not scared,” I said, but my voice wasn’t steady enough to make it believable.
He leaned in—slowly, deliberately, just enough that I could feel the whisper of his breath against my cheek.
“Then why are you shaking?”
I was.
God, I was.
Not from fear. Not really. More like… adrenaline. Tension. The kind of intensity no one warns you about when you live with wolves.
“I’m fine,” I said, even though it came out barely above a whisper.
Jax studied me for a long, heavy moment, and then he slowly dropped his arm, releasing the space between us.
But he didn’t walk away.
He just stayed there, still close, still watching me like he could see straight through whatever walls I thought I had.
“If anything else happens with that girl,” he said quietly, “you tell me. Not Zane. Not Luca. Me.”
I swallowed hard. “Why you?”
His jaw moved once, like he was holding something back. “Because I’m the only one who won’t lie to you about what’s coming.”
A shiver ran down my spine.
I didn’t understand the words. But a part of me—the part that always reacted to Jax before my brain did—believed him.
He stepped back then, giving me air again, and for a second all I could do was breathe and pretend my heart wasn’t still racing like I’d just sprinted.
Jax turned toward the hallway. “Dinner in ten.”
I nodded. He didn’t look back, but his voice drifted over his shoulder.
“And Mira? Don’t go anywhere alone tonight.”